


The Gift

by MiaCooper



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Challenge Response, Episode: s07e11 Shattered, F/M, Prompt Fic, Temporal Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 06:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10565826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaCooper/pseuds/MiaCooper
Summary: How did the captain’s lost rank pip end up in Chakotay’s bed? Inquiring minds want to know.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Helen8462](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helen8462/gifts), [carlynroth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carlynroth/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Pip](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10549444) by [Helen8462](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helen8462/pseuds/Helen8462). 



> A sequel to Helen8462’s [The Pip](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10549444) which was a response to Prixin Prompt #1 (Explain how Kathryn knew where Chakotay kept his Antarian cider). I’ve borrowed some dialogue from her story, with her permission.
> 
> This story is also a response to Prixin Prompt #4: After Voyager's return to Earth Kathryn has a feeling Chakotay isn't who he says he is.
> 
>  **Disclaimer**  
>  Paramount/CBS knows all, sees all, and owns all.

If you’d asked me this morning what I planned to be doing tonight, hiding under my former first officer’s bed would not have been the first idea to come to mind. Nor would I have considered I’d be back in the Delta quadrant, having spent my evening sneaking around my ship with a pair of troublemakers – one galactic, one temporal – trying to avoid being spotted by terminally curious ex-drones, tenacious Vulcans or over-protective XOs, while incidentally helping to save the future of the Federation.  
  
Then again, it’s a whole lot more interesting than sifting PADDs behind a desk. And after four months back in the Alpha quadrant, the latter two of those in the admiralty, I admit I’ve been hankering for a little excitement. Best of all, it has finally put paid to a mystery that’s been bothering me for close to a year now. Except that it hasn’t. Or hadn’t, and now it has.  
  
And here comes that headache.  
  
But I suppose I should start from the beginning – if there is such a thing as a beginning when you’re being whisked all over space and time.

 

* * *

  
Today is my birthday.  
  
This is an event I usually try to ignore, even more so since I passed the dreaded milestone of turning forty. I am a child of the twenty-fourth century, and as such I’m fully aware of the advances in medicine that would enable me to remain fertile well into my fifties – not to mention I’d be the first to protest if anyone dared to suggest that a woman’s self-worth should be tied to her ability to produce offspring – and yet, there’s just something about being over forty and without the prospect of a mate or children that makes me sad. And I’ve never been one to lick my wounds in company, so on my forty-third birthday I plan to spend my day at work and my evening in solitude, with perhaps a nice glass of wine and a good book in my hand.  
  
I’m well on my way toward achieving that goal when there’s a knock at my office door and a head pops around it. Dark hair, tattoo and a pair of dimples.  
  
“I thought I’d find you here.”  
  
My heart sinks. Why did it have to be him?  
  
“Captain,” I acknowledge my visitor. “Can I help you with something?”  
  
Chakotay enters the office and rests a hip on the edge of my desk. Too close. I scoot my chair back a little, rather pointedly.  
  
“Yes, you can, Admiral.” He holds out a hand, palm-up. I stare at him; am I expected to take it? “I’m here to show you a good time,” he says, and grins at me.  
  
My eyebrows arch. _And what does Seven think of that?_ I want to ask, but that would be petty, so instead I say, “I’m busy.”  
  
Chakotay lets his hand fall and leans in closer. “Actually, Admiral, I happen to know that you’re not busy at all. And it’s your birthday, so stop sulking and come have some fun.”  
  
I glare at him. “I am not sulking.”  
  
He raises an eyebrow.  
  
“And I already have plans.” I stand up and start shuffling PADDs around my desk, avoiding his all-too-knowing gaze. “You can show yourself out, Captain.”  
  
He sighs. “You’re leaving me no choice, Kathryn.”  
  
I ignore him, shoving the PADDs into my shoulder bag.  
  
“All right then,” he says, and the next thing I know, a large hand is circling my wrist, I’m being spun and pulled into his waiting arms, and Chakotay is kissing me.  
  
Hard.  
  
With absolutely no tenderness, passion or skill whatsoever.  
  
Perhaps it’s the disappointment that makes me do it – after all, I’ve harboured guilty dreams about kissing Chakotay for _years_ , and this is not _at all_ the way I expected it to be – but it takes barely a single, shocked second for me to come to my senses. I stomp my boot heel down on his instep while simultaneously gripping his earlobe between finger and thumb and giving it a vicious twist. Chakotay howls, his grasp on me loosening, and I take the advantage, shoving him hard in the chest.  
  
He stumbles backward, trips, and lands gracelessly on his backside.  
  
“Ow,” he complains. “That didn’t go the way it was supposed to.”  
  
I’m almost speechless – almost. “What do you think you’re doing?” I squawk. “What in seven hells is _wrong_ with you?”  
  
He glares at me from the floor, rubbing his bruised behind. “What’s wrong with _you?_ I just gave you what you’ve been wanting for years, and your reaction is to physically assault me?”  
  
I gape at him. “What I’ve been – Chakotay, are you out of your _mind?_ And what about Seven?”  
  
He rolls his eyes. “That intolerable drone. If you only knew the trouble you caused when you welcomed her into the family. All that striving for perfection. It’s enough to drive a man to drink.”  
  
Now I know he’s lost his mind. Chakotay would never speak so unkindly about anyone, let alone the woman he’s dating. And speaking of which…  
  
“You kissed me,” I accuse, planting my hands on my hips. “You’re with Seven, and you _kissed_ me. How _dare_ you?”  
  
Chakotay gets smoothly to his feet, grinning at me. “Do you know how sexy you look when you’re in command stance, Kathy?”  
  
_Kathy?_  
  
Oh, no …  
  
“You’re not Chakotay,” I say slowly. “You’re Q.”  
  
Chakotay/Q clicks his fingers, instantly appearing in the form I’m used to seeing. “Ta-da!” he whoops gleefully. “Look Mom, no tattoo!”  
  
Oh, _no_.  
  
My legs give out from underneath me and I flop back into my chair.  
  
“Happy birthday, Kathy,” he smirks. “Are you ready for your gift?”

 

* * *

  
“No.”  
  
“That’s it? Just _no?_ ”  
  
I continue striding down the corridor, ignoring the omnipotent fingers plucking at my elbow. “No. A thousand times no, Q. I don’t want a gift from you. Not today. Not ever.”  
  
Q clicks his fingers and appears in front of me, pouting. I duck around him.  
  
“You’re no fun,” he whines.  
  
“Good,” I snap, stepping through the main doors and out onto the path.  
  
Q dogs my heels. “Aren’t you even the least bit curious, Kathy?”  
  
“ _No_.”  
  
“Oh all right then,” he grumbles, stopping. “I guess I’ll just leave you to brood. All alone. On your birthday,” his voice rises as I get further away.  
  
My stride slows. It can’t be that easy. Can it?  
  
“Of course,” he calls, “then you’ll never know what was _supposed_ to happen.”  
  
_Supposed to happen?_  
  
No. Ignore it, Kathryn. He’s just playing with you. Keep walking.  
  
“Good night, Kathy,” he shouts after me. “When you see him, tell Captain Braxton I said hello.”  
  
I stop short.  
  
“Braxton?” I ask apprehensively. “Of the _Relativity_?”  
  
No answer.  
  
I turn around, ready to let Q have it, omnipotent being or not, and find myself alone.  
  
“Damn it, Q!”

 

* * *

  
I can’t settle. I wander around my apartment, my second glass of whiskey in one hand – I’ve bypassed the wine and gone straight for the hard stuff – fidgeting with the edges of the cashmere shawl Phoebe gave me last week; an early birthday gift. I can’t stop thinking about Q’s parting taunt.  
  
Captain Braxton of the Federation Timeship _Relativity_ is the last person I want to see right now –  
  
A flash of light, and Q appears, smirking and lounging on my couch, in his Starfleet captain guise.  
  
Make that the second-last person.  
  
Q glances around at my empty white apartment. “Well, this is really pathetic, Kathy. All alone on your birthday,” he sighs. “You’d think nobody cared about you at all.”  
  
I scowl at him.  
  
“Of course,” he picks a non-existent piece of lint off his jacket, “it doesn’t have to be this way. In fact, it isn’t supposed to be this way. If the timeline had turned out the way it was meant to –”  
  
“Stop!” I hold up a hand. “If you’re trying to bait me into a temporal prime directive violation, Q, you can just leave right now. I am not interested. And besides,” I can’t help continuing, “if the timeline had turned out the way it was _supposed_ to, _Voyager_ would still be in the Delta quadrant right now and wouldn’t be home for another sixteen years.”  
  
“Oh, pish posh.” Q waves a dismissive hand at me. “ _That_ timeline was an abomination. Nobody wanted things to turn out that way, not even your persnickety time police. _Obviously_ , because I don’t recall you receiving a visit from them over your silver-haired doppelganger and her exploits, do you?”  
  
I have to admit, that’s been bothering me. Braxton once told me I was responsible for far too many temporal violations that he and his crew had to clean up. Surely travelling back in time to alter the course of _Voyager_ ’s history wasn’t something he’d have just let slide?  
  
“Right,” Q nods. “However, that pompous little targ and his timeship will be popping up shortly, but don’t worry, Kathy. Old Uncle Q is on your side.”  
  
“Lucky me.” The sarcasm fairly drips from my voice. “Look, Q, all I want is to spend a quiet evening alone, and I really don’t think that’s too much to ask –”  
  
I’m cut off by the whisk and sparkle of a transporter beam, and Captain Braxton materialises in my living room.  
  
“ _You_ ,” he snarls upon seeing Q. “I should have known you were involved in this.”  
  
“Oh, so you two have met?” I snark.  
  
“Unfortunately,” drawls Q. “I thought Jean-Luc was a stick in the mud, but this one… well, let’s just say he’s not my favourite captain.”  
  
Braxton’s face reddens. “If you knew how much time I spend cleaning up after you –”  
  
“Blah, blah, blah,” Q says rudely. “If it weren’t for me – not to mention lovely Kathy here – you’d be bored out of your tiny mind. Of course if you prefer I could wipe you out of existence. It’d be my gift to the universe.”  
  
“You meddling, know-it-all –”  
  
“Gentlemen.” I step between them. “If you must have a pissing contest, take it somewhere else.”  
  
Braxton rounds on me. “You’re in no position to dictate to me –”  
  
“ _Enough_ ,” I snap. “I didn’t invite either of you here, and you’re welcome to leave at your earliest convenience. And in case you didn’t notice,” I forge on as both of them open their mouths to object, glancing pointedly at the insignia on their collars, “I outrank you both.”  
  
Surprisingly, that shuts them up.  
  
“Good.” I fold my arms. “Now if you’re not going to leave, perhaps one of you would be kind enough to tell me what the hell all of this is about?”

 

* * *

  
I’m beginning to regret the whiskey. Temporal mechanics is a bitch to follow at the best of times, let alone tired and cranky and ever so slightly tipsy. It certainly isn’t helping my headache.  
  
“So let me get this straight.” I rub at my pounding temples. “You” – I point to Q – “want to whisk me back a year in time to help my younger self find a rank pip I don’t remember ever losing, and _you_ ” – I gesture to Braxton – “want to stop the pip from getting lost, because somehow losing it will change the course of history?”  
  
“The course of _your_ history,” Q corrects.  
  
“What’s the difference?”  
  
“What does it matter?” Braxton interrupts. “This creature wants to interfere in the integrity of the space-time continuum. I can’t allow that to happen.”  
  
“Can you even spell _continuum_ , you insufferable badger? And this is such a trifling little change, really. Hardly anybody is even going to notice.”  
  
“Then what’s the point?” I ask in exasperation.  
  
“The _point_ , Kathy, is that _you’ll_ notice. You and that graffiti-faced lout of yours. Although why you’re so fond of him, I’ll never know. Even Riker is more interesting.”  
  
“Q,” I plead, my head spinning. “What does Chakotay have to do with any of this?”  
  
“Well, Kathy dear, let me explain. Do you remember the night Chuckles burnt out your deflector dish?”  
  
“The space-time anomaly that shattered the ship into different timeframes,” I answer. “Yes, of course.”  
  
“You had dinner together after all the excitement,” he reminds me. “You were a little merry, if you don’t mind me saying. Getting all flirty with poor old Chuckles while you tried to wheedle him into breaking your precious temporal prime directive.”  
  
“Which he _didn’t_ ,” Braxton interjects pointedly.  
  
“And do you remember how the evening ended?” Q goes on.  
  
I frown, thinking back. “I don’t remember anything out of the ordinary. We finished off a bottle of cider, and then he went back to his quarters and I went to bed.”  
  
“ _Exactly!_ ” Q crows.  
  
“I’m not following you, Q.”  
  
“Then I’ll spell it out for you. You see, Chuckles had had quite an interesting evening, traipsing around all over your ship with a younger and somewhat sprightlier version of you, Kathy dear. It was so interesting, in fact, that it inspired him to revisit the nature of his affection for you.” Q snickers dirtily. “You should have seen some of the fantasies he used to have about you in the early days. He had quite the imagination – I didn’t know he had it in him…” He trails off at my glare. “Anyway, time passed, you two argued quite a lot, blah blah. Eventually Tattoo Boy had to accept that you were never going to give him the key to your chastity belt.”  
  
“ _Q_.”  
  
“But that night, Chuckles was reminded of the old you, Kathy, and why he had all those intriguing fantasies about you in the first place – do you think you could wear body paint for me sometime, by the way? – and he was gathering his courage to make a move on you. Except that he chickened out.”  
  
My mouth is hanging open.  
  
“And do you know why? Because he was waiting for a sign that you returned his feelings.” Q rolls his eyes dramatically. “Honestly, he really is rather dim, isn’t he? I mean it’s _obvious_ you have a soft spot for the big lug. What did he want, a club over the head? Anyway, he slunk away believing it was over between you, nursed his crushed ego for a few months, and then along comes Miss Catsuit and makes a play for him, and the next thing you know they’re an item.”  
  
I swallow hard.  
  
“So I’m doing you both a favour, don’t you see? Chuckles gets his sign painted in great big neon letters even he can’t possibly miss, he never starts dating Metal Girl, and you two live happily ever after.”  
  
The room is silent for a full minute.  
  
“You’re taking me back in time,” I finally manage, “so you can fix my _love life?_ ”  
  
Q cocks finger-guns at me. “Not just a pretty face, are you?”  
  
“But _why?_ ”  
  
“I told you,” Q sighs. “I want to give you something nice for your birthday. Now, chop chop, Kathy. Time’s a-wasting.” And he raises his hand, fingers poised to click.  
  
“ _Wait_ ,” roars Braxton, making me jump; I’ve almost forgotten he was here. “Doesn’t anybody want to hear my side of the story?”  
  
“Oh, by all means, throw your big wet blanket on the party,” Q snorts.  
  
“Hold on a minute, Q,” I object, finally gathering my wits. “Preserving the timeline is Captain Braxton’s job. And besides, I want to hear this.”  
  
Q throws himself backwards on the couch with a melodramatic sigh.  
  
“If you go ahead with this,” Braxton announces theatrically, drawing himself up to his full height, “the future of the entire Federation is at risk.”  
  
Oh. Well, of course. It couldn’t possibly be a gift from Q if it came without strings attached.  
  
“We’ve been here before,” Braxton explains. “This miscreant fiddles with the timeline for his own specious and nefarious purposes, I try to fix it, and everything goes horribly wrong. You see, it all begins with a pot of breakfast stew…”

 

* * *

  
It’s quite an incredible tale.  
  
On the morning of the day that _Voyager_ encounters the spatial rift, Neelix decides to make a special Bolian recipe for Chell, who’s been expressing some homesickness. Like most Bolian food, it’s not exactly popular with the crew, including myself – or should I say, my younger self. Upon leaning over the stew pot to inspect its vile-smelling contents – scientific curiosity, naturally – I’m discovered by Neelix and dragooned into stirring the lumpy brown mush within. It’s hot and I’m sweating, and just as I run my finger under my turtleneck collar, Neelix bumps into me from behind and one of my pips is knocked off my collar and sinks unnoticed into the stew.  
  
Upon masticating a healthy portion of the unappetising mush, Chell bites into my missing pip, breaking a tooth in the process and accusing Neelix of trying to kill him. I step in and take Chell to Sickbay, where the Doctor heals him and blithely informs him that the offending object should reappear once it’s passed through his digestive tract.  
  
“Wait a minute,” I stop Braxton at this point. “I don’t remember any of this.”  
  
Braxton glares at me. “Of course you don’t, because it didn’t happen in the original timeline.”  
  
“All right, just for the sake of argument, let’s say you’re right; I changed the timeline and Chell ended up swallowing one of my pips. What on earth does that have to do with the fate of the Federation?”  
  
“It’s not the pip,” Braxton says angrily. “In the course of trying to clean up the temporal mess you and your omnipotent friend here made, I prevented your kitchen rat from jostling you while you were stirring the stew, and your pip never fell off. What _did_ happen is that Seven of Nine entered the kitchen, recognised me from our previous encounters, and attempted to immobilise me. I had to leap over the counter to avoid her, and in the process of getting away I dropped my temporal transport device.”  
  
“Into the stew?”  
  
“Correct. Shortly thereafter, your Bolian crewman swallowed it. Eight days later it made a rather unappealing reappearance, and being the curious type, Mr Chell tinkered with the device and ended up on Bolius IX in the twenty-eighth century.”  
  
Okay, so now this is getting good. “Go on,” I encourage.  
  
“Once he’d got over his shock, Chell took advantage of the situation like a good little Maquis. He wormed his way into the government, where he eventually became Chief Minister of Bolius, reinstated the ancient monarchistic system and promptly declared himself king. After spending a few years lying about with nubile slave-girls, he grew ambitious, started a war with the Federation, overturned the president of the day, disbanded Starfleet and outlawed all space travel, thus ensuring that the twenty-ninth century I know never came to exist.”  
  
I have to admit, I’m impressed. Who knew Chell had it in him?  
  
Then it occurs to me. “But if it was your temporal transporter that broke Chell’s tooth, doesn’t that make this all _your_ fault?”  
  
“Oh, thank you very much,” Braxton snaps. “I knew you’d see it that way. Try to remember, Admiral, that I wouldn’t have even _been_ there if it weren’t for you.”  
  
Q laughs loudly. “He has a point, Kathy. Irony! I love it.”  
  
I ignore him. “And why, exactly, were you there? I can’t believe that a rank pip falling into a stew is important enough to send a timeship to stop it. Especially as your interference apparently ends up causing a far worse situation.”  
  
“Why don’t I answer that, Kathy?” Q interrupts smoothly.  
  
I turn to him. “By all means, Q. Please enlighten me.”  
  
“Well, you see, it’s not just any old rank pip. It’s _your_ rank pip. And when you realise it’s missing you become somewhat fixated on tracking it down. In fact, you spend an entire afternoon obsessing about it, and when you finally find it, its location is the trigger for a rather life-changing decision for you and Tattoo Boy.”  
  
I blink. “Find it? But I thought you said Chell swallows it?”  
  
“Oh, he does. Which is why you have to find another pip, identical in every way. Nothing less will do.”  
  
“And where exactly would I find this mythical, identical pip?”  
  
Q smirks at me in satisfaction. “In another timeline, of course.”  
  
I swing back to Braxton, who’s glaring at me triumphantly, arms folded.  
  
“Are you beginning to understand now?” he demands. “You and your shady friend here are responsible for not one, not two, but _three_ temporal violations. And all because you can’t get laid.”


	2. Part Two

“Well,” Q says, springing up from the couch, “this has been an amusing little diversion, but it’s time to get on with things. Shall we, Kathy?”  
  
He extends a hand to me and I back away, glaring at him. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that an unwanted gift isn’t a gift at all? And besides, what about Captain Braxton?” I gesture to the other man. “He may be one of the two most offensive people in this room, but if he’s right and I somehow cause the downfall of the Federation, I don’t want any part of this.”  
  
“Would you stop fretting? It’s such a drag. But if it makes you feel better, I promise I’ll see to it that your precious Federation is still alive and kicking in this human’s century. All right?”  
  
“How are you –” but I’m cut off by the clicking of Q’s fingers, and the next thing I know I’m enveloped by white light. When it clears, I’m watching myself standing over a hot stove staring into a gooey, steaming brown stew.  
  
In the mess hall.  
  
On _Voyager_.  
  
“Oops,” I hear Q whisper. “Those rank bars just won’t do.”  
  
In a flash my grey-shouldered uniform is replaced by the older style I wore on _Voyager_ , and instead of my admiral’s insignia, four shiny gold pips adorn my collar.  
  
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs in my ear. “For the moment, nobody can see you. Just watch …”  
  
“Q!” I hiss. “Get me out of here!”  
  
“Did you say something, Captain?”  
  
Oh God, it’s Neelix. I can actually feel myself welling up a little – I’ve missed his mohawked, spotty little face.  
  
My doppelganger turns to smile at him. “Hello, Neelix. No, I didn’t say a thing.” The other me waves at the bubbling stew-pot. “What’s this? Breakfast?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am, it’s a Bolian specialty this morning! Actually, would you mind giving it a quick stir for me? I’ll go brew you a cup of – Oof!”  
  
Just as the one-year-younger Captain Janeway obligingly picks up the ladle and runs her finger under her heat-dampened collar, Neelix’s shoulder crashes into her back and she lurches involuntarily forward, and I watch in horror and disbelief as one of her pips bursts off her collar and disappears into the stew.  
  
Omnipotent laughter sounds in my ear. “There, that’s set the wheels in motion. Poor old hedgehog never knew what hit him, did he?”  
  
Q waggles the foot he’s apparently just used to trip up the unsuspecting Neelix.  
  
“Come on, Kathy. Time for some real fun now.”

 

* * *

  
“What about Braxton?” I demand as Q and I materialise in my – I mean, _Captain_ Janeway’s – ready room. “Why didn’t he show up in the mess hall to stop this?”  
  
“He’s been unavoidably detained. I did tell you I’d sort out that silly business with the temporal transporter, didn’t I? It malfunctioned.”  
  
“Malfunctioned? Oh God, is Braxton all right?”  
  
“Of course he’s all right, Kathy. I just sent him to visit an old haunt for a while. Los Angeles, the year 1996 – you remember?”  
  
I cringe. If Braxton hated me before…  
  
“All right, Q. You’ve had your fun. Return Captain Braxton to the _Relativity_ and send me back to Starfleet Headquarters. _Now_.”  
  
“Ah-ah, not yet.” Q waggles a finger in front of my face. “But I think we can skip ahead a little. Why don’t we see what happens in a few hours’ time?”  
  
He snaps his fingers, and the ship jolts under our feet. Automatically I slap my commbadge. “Janeway to the bridge, report!”  
  
“They can’t hear you,” Q rolls his eyes. “Just as well, really. The Captain Janeway from this timeframe might have been a little surprised to hear her own voice, don’t you think?”  
  
“The spatial rift,” I realise. “This is the moment _Voyager_ was hit by the chronokinetic surge.”  
  
“And splintered into thirty-seven different timeframes,” Q confirms. “Things are about to get very lively around here.”

 

* * *

  
  
“What are we doing here?” I whisper, crouching behind the railing on the upper level of Engineering.  
  
“Why are you whispering?” Q whispers back.  
  
I send him a sour look as I stand upright and ask in my normal tone, “Can’t they hear us?”  
  
“Nobody will see or hear you, Kathy,” Q assures me. “At least, not until it’s time. Now shh. Watch.”  
  
I redirect my attention to the main Engineering level, where Seska and her Kazon cronies are prowling around poking at consoles, just as the doors open and Chakotay comes in. I hear him gasp, “Seska?” and one of the Kazon slams him in the face with the butt of his phaser rifle.  
  
“Chakotay!” I cry out as he drops to the floor. “Q, help him!”  
  
Q is leaning against the railing, smirking at me. “You really are fond of the big lug, aren’t you?”  
  
I stiffen. “He’s my first officer.”  
  
“Not anymore,” Q sing-songs.  
  
“He’s my friend.”  
  
“Really?” Q drawls. “Seems to me that friends don’t ignore each other for months on end. And isn’t that what you’ve been doing since you got back to Earth, Kathy?”  
  
“I’ve been busy.” I cross my arms defensively. “And I didn’t want to interfere.”  
  
“Interfere?” Q grins. “You mean, in his mid-life crisis?”  
  
“I mean in his relationship with Seven,” I retort through gritted teeth. “He has a right to be happy.”  
  
“So do you,” Q points out. “Which is exactly what I’m trying to get through your pretty little self-sacrificing skull.”  
  
My gaze drifts back to Chakotay, who’s slumped in a chair and beginning to regain consciousness. “Is he going to be all right?” I ask anxiously.  
  
“Of course he is. He saves the ship, doesn’t he?”  
  
“Yes.” I can’t help staring down at Chakotay; I’m not sure I’ve ever had the luxury of gazing at him like this without having to guard the feelings I know must be visible in my eyes. “Yes, he does.”  
  
“Well, then.” Q’s voice sounds a little softer. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

 

* * *

  
  
“ _Ha!_ ”  
  
I jump almost a metre in the air at the triumphant shout from behind me in the corridor. Turning, I spot a wild-eyed Captain Braxton.  
  
He’s brandishing a fist at Q, who looks bored. “So your time police lackeys managed to find you, did they?” he drawls.  
  
“You dumped me back in that primitive hell-hole with those barbarians!” Braxton is practically frothing at the mouth. “How dare you? And as for you, Janeway –”  
  
“Oh, shut up,” Q says, waving a hand, and Braxton falls silent, still mouthing his fury at us. “That’s better. He’s rather annoying, isn’t he, Kathy? What should I do with him?”  
  
“Q.” I give him the force-ten stare. “That’s enough.”  
  
“All right,” Q grumbles, and waves a hand again. Braxton splutters. “Clearly you aren’t going to leave well enough alone, Captain Temporal Prime Directive, so you might as well come along for the ride. Just don’t cramp our style or I’ll send you back to the primitive hell-hole. _Permanently_.”  
  
I pat Braxton’s shoulder. “It’s probably best if you do as he asks, Captain. After all, he’s already stopped you from losing your temporal transporter. Much as it pains me to admit it, I think Q’s heart is in the right place.”  
  
Braxton sets his face in a scowl, but follows as we move on down the hallway.  
  
I catch up to Q. “Where are we going now?”  
  
“The cargo bay.”  
  
“What on earth for?”  
  
“You’ll see,” Q answers smugly.

 

* * *

  
  
Stars. I’d forgotten how imposing Seven of Nine looked all decked out in full Borg regalia. _Not exactly attractive_ , a small, mean part of me whispers. I squash it immediately.  
  
“Why have you returned?” she demands. “Did the plan fail?”  
  
I blink at her, then turn to Q. “She can _see_ me,” I hiss at him.  
  
“Oh, did I forget to mention that part? Don’t worry. She can’t see _me_. Or your time-travelling stuffed-shirt friend here.”  
  
I glare at him and return my attention to Seven’s emotionless visage. “Er, the plan. No, no, it’s in progress.”  
  
What plan is she talking about?  
  
She’s looking at me suspiciously, for a Borg. “I understood that you and Commander Chakotay would be administering the chroniton serum in tandem. Why have you returned alone?”  
  
Good question. “Um, I ah, wanted to check up on you.” It sounds lame. It _is_ lame.  
  
She looks unimpressed, in a Borg kind of way. “We do not require your supervision. Your time would be more efficiently spent by not deviating from the prescribed course of action.”  
  
“Ah…” I’m lost. “Help,” I mutter to Q.  
  
“Tell her you’re looking for engineering components in the storage containers,” he sighs, jerking his head toward the containers in question.  
  
I repeat Q’s suggestion, then brush past the full metal jacket version of Seven and begin randomly opening cargo containers. Engineering parts. Why am I looking for engineering parts? I throw Q a glance over my shoulder, noting at the same time that Seven and her fellow drones have returned to assimilating the cargo bay.  
  
Braxton is watching them with an expression of fascinated distaste. What, they don’t have Borg in the twenty-ninth century?  
  
Actually, that sounds like a century I wouldn’t mind living in. No Borg. Particularly the ones who turn out blonde and statuesque with a penchant for tattooed Native Americans – _Stop it, Kathryn Janeway. You are not a petty woman_.  
  
Q wanders over to hover at my shoulder. “Cold,” he says as I move down the line of containers. “Getting colder.”  
  
“What?” I move back the way I came.  
  
“Warmer. Warmer. Hotter,” he chants as I open each container in turn. “Boiling. Scorching. Ooh, Kathy, you’re downright blistering.”  
  
As I peer into the container, my foot nudges it and I hear the unmistakeable sound of liquid sloshing inside a flask. Intrigued, I rifle through the storage box and pull out – a bottle of Antarian cider.  
  
“So that’s where he kept it,” I can’t help crowing.  
  
And suddenly I remember.  
  
We’d finished our dinner and we were sitting on the couch in my quarters. I’d been trying to wheedle the story of Chakotay’s adventures on our time-shattered ship out of him and he was resisting. We’d almost finished a whole bottle of Antarian cider together and I remember sitting even closer to him than usual, touching him more than strictly necessary and giving him looks from under my lashes. I’d been sure he was about to cave and tell me what happened, but then he pulled away, making a joke about the cider bottle being empty, and I suggested he go get another one. From the cargo bay.  
  
_How do you know that’s where I keep it?_  
  
_Oh, I can’t tell you. Temporal prime directive._  
  
I’d been teasing – the cargo bay had been a guess. Or was it? Q said we’ve done this before – the pip, Braxton’s interference, the mishap with the temporal transporter. Maybe I’ve retained some kind of knowledge from my previous trips through time …  
  
“Take my advice, Kathy,” Q says, leaning against the cargo container. “Don’t try to make sense of it. You’ll only give yourself a headache.”  
  
“Then what’s the point of bringing me here?” I ask him, rubbing my throbbing temples.  
  
“To remind you that that night was your last chance with Chuckles, and you blew it.”  
  
I stare at him. For some reason my eyes are damp and my throat feels all clogged.  
  
“Oh, don’t worry, Kathy. That’s why I’m here – to make sure everything turns out just the way it’s supposed to. Now, I think it’s time we finished the job, don’t you?”

 

* * *

  
  
“Mind if I ask you a question?” the seven-years-younger version of me is saying, her gaze darting to Chakotay’s.  
  
Q, Braxton and I watch unseen from the upper level of Engineering as Chakotay shifts on his feet nervously. “Will I have to break the temporal prime directive to answer it?” he asks.  
  
“Maybe just a little.”  
  
Am I really that flirtatious? The cast-down glances, the sway of my hips … For the first time I fully realise the depths of Chakotay’s patience all those years. Not to mention his self-restraint.  
  
“For two people who started off as enemies, it seems we get to know each other pretty well. So I've been wondering … just how close do we get?”  
  
My jaw drops. “Oh no she didn’t!”  
  
“Oh yes you did,” Q says, an irritatingly knowing smirk on his face.  
  
Chakotay goes through about a hundred micro-expressions while the younger me is talking and finally settles on something I’d describe as resignation. “Let’s just say,” he answers slowly, “there are some barriers we never cross.”  
  
And the look on my face – my-seven-years-in-the-past, newly-engaged-to-Mark face – is disappointment. _Disappointment_. I’m blushing so hard I can’t even _look_ at Captain Braxton.  
  
Q nudges me. “Older doesn’t necessarily mean smarter, eh, Kathy?”  
  
We watch as the pair shake hands and move off in different directions.  
  
“Okay, Kathy,” Q announces. “It’s showtime.”  
  
“What are you talking about now?”  
  
“You need to take her pip.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Q rolls his eyes. “I told you earlier – only a genuine Captain Janeway pip will do for our purposes, and the one the other you was wearing ended up in a Bolian’s digestive tract. You need to go get hers. Just walk right up to her and grab it. Trust me, she won’t remember.”  
  
“Now do you see why I hate you?” mumbles Braxton. “You know the Bureau of Temporal Investigations has an entire division dedicated to implementing the Janeway Protocol?”  
  
“All right,” I hold up my hands for mercy. “Let’s just get this over with.”  
  
With a deep breath, I follow Captain Janeway’s steel chignon into the hallway and tap her on the shoulder.


	3. Part Three

Well, _this_ is interesting. I’ve never actually been the recipient of the Janeway Glare before. Now I can see why it works so well on upstart cadets and overly friendly alien diplomats. Still, at least having spent her past few hours traipsing through various timeframes means my younger self is a little more receptive to the idea of meeting another version of me.  
  
Even if she is wrinkling her nose disbelievingly at my hairstyle.  
  
Perhaps the most irritating part about coming face to face with a younger, sprightlier, and – I admit it – happier version of myself is her complete lack of tolerance for the choices I made while stuck out in the Delta quadrant. Oh, not my tactical decisions; I think she was a little overwhelmed at encountering macroviruses and deceitful Cardassian spies and Borg drones, and she’s probably just relieved to know that we survived all that. No, it’s my _personal_ choices she has opinions about. Specifically my romantic choices. Or lack thereof.  
  
“So which timeframe are you from?” she demands, folding her arms.  
  
“Seven years in your future,” I answer. “Since you won’t remember anything that happened today, I might as well tell you we made it home. Four months ago.”  
  
Relief washes across her face. “I’m glad to hear that. So, what can I do for you, Captain?”  
  
“I need your pip.”  
  
She raises an eyebrow. “You don’t appear to be missing one.”  
  
“Oh, these aren’t real. And actually, I’m supposed to be wearing rank bars. I’m an admiral.”  
  
“Congratulations,” she says drily. “Are you going to explain any of this to me?”  
  
“There’s no time. I’m sorry. Chakotay will be initiating the warp pulse any moment now.”  
  
“Oh, yes,” she answers as she removes the pip and drops it into my outstretched hand. “ _Chakotay_.”  
  
I give her a mild glare of my own. “Something you want to say to me, Captain?”  
  
“He’s a handsome man,” she muses. “Intelligent, charming. Seems to be quite fond of me. You. Us. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”  
  
I flush. “You certainly seemed to. _Just how close do we get?_ ”  
  
“I’m engaged, not dead. And you were apparently out here for almost seven years.” I watch sadness flit across her eyes. “I can’t believe Mark would wait that long for me. So why don’t you tell me what barriers you and Chakotay _do_ cross?”  
  
I hesitate, and finally answer, “It’s complicated.”  
  
“Mm-hm.”  
  
“But,” I draw myself up, “I have a feeling I’m about to uncomplicate it.”  
      
She searches my eyes for a moment longer, then nods. “Then I guess I’ll see _you_ in the future too, Admiral. Make it a good one.”

 

* * *

  
  
I watch the captain stride away toward her bridge and turn to find Q grinning at me. “Quite the little spitfire, isn’t she? Now do you see why I find you so enchanting?”  
  
I roll my eyes at him. “Let’s get on with it, Q. What am I supposed to do with this pip?”  
  
“Oh, that’s simple. You just have to leave it somewhere your fellow with the drawing on his face will find it.”  
  
“And where might that be?”  
  
But before Q can answer, Braxton steps in between us. “I can’t allow this to happen. The temporal prime directive –”  
  
“ _That_ old chestnut?” Q sighs. “You really are a tedious little toad, aren’t you?”  
  
“Wait a minute,” I interrupt before Braxton can start spitting vitriol back at him. “Captain, if I’m understanding things correctly, we’ve already prevented the demise of the Federation in the future – your past. Isn’t that what you came here to do?”  
  
“The Department of Temporal Investigations has empowered me to prevent any changes to the timeline, no matter how minor,” he says pompously. “Changing history for your own benefit would seem to fall into that category, Admiral.”  
  
“You can’t seriously tell me your temporal jackboots give a damn whether Chuckles ends up with Drone Girl or Kathy here,” Q snorts. “Although _you_ probably should.”  
  
“Why?” I turn to Q.  
  
“Oh, I probably shouldn’t say anything.” Q inspects his fingernails and flicks a glance at Braxton. “Temporal prime directive and all.”  
  
Now I’m curious. “I’d say we’ve already smashed it to smithereens, wouldn’t you, Captain?”  
  
Braxton folds his arms and glares. But as he doesn’t protest further, I tilt my head at Q, eyebrows raised.  
  
“All right then,” Q grins. “In the twenty-sixth century, a young lady by the name of Elizabeth Jones graduates from Starfleet Academy. On her first posting she meets a dashing lieutenant. They fall in love and eventually marry and procreate, in the revolting way you humans do. The lieutenant’s name is John Braxton.”  
  
Captain Braxton scowls.  
  
“The captain’s ancestor?” I ask.  
  
“Naturally. But the interesting part is that Elizabeth Jones never existed.”  
  
“You’ve lost me, Q.”  
  
“At least, not in one timeline. You see, Lizzie’s great-great-great grandparents went by the names of Chakotay and Kathryn Janeway.”  
  
My mouth falls open.  
  
I’m going to have a child?  
  
With _Chakotay?_  
  
“But if the captain here has his way, you two lovebirds will never come to your senses, Chuckles will end up in a childless marriage to Miss Cyborg, and Lizzie Jones will never be born. Consequently, neither will _he_.” Q jerks his chin at Braxton.  
  
“Wait just a minute,” I stammer. “Are you telling me Captain Braxton is one of my descendants?”  
  
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Q crows. “And the silly twit is trying to wipe himself out of existence by restoring a timeline that never should have been. Aren’t you just so proud, Kathy?”  
  
Braxton and I are wearing identical expressions of shock now.  
  
“You didn’t know?” I ask him. “How could you not _know?_ ”  
  
“Oh! Oh!” Q bounces on his toes, hand in the air. Braxton and I turn to look at him. “That’s down to me.”  
  
“You?”  
  
“It gets boring in the Continuum, so I thought I’d liven things up with a little cosmic joke.” Q giggles. “Surprise, Captain! The joke is on you.”  
  
Braxton gathers himself with a roar and springs at Q, who snaps his fingers, disappears, and reappears on my other side. Braxton falls flat on his face.  
  
“Well,” I comment as Braxton picks himself up, glowering at the chortling Q, “that’s really got to give you the pip.”

 

* * *

  
  
After everything that’s happened today, ducking into a Jeffries tube on Deck Eight to avoid a de-Borgified Seven of Nine and her tricorder really should seem like just another day at the office.  
  
“The temporal displacement signature appears to be localised here,” I hear her saying as her tricorder beeps and whirs.  
  
“There should be no remaining temporal fluctuations.” Crap, it’s Tuvok. “The chronokinetic surge was avoided.”  
  
“Curious,” Seven agrees.  
  
“Now what do we do?” I whisper to Q and Braxton. “Those two are not going to just let this go.”  
  
“Never fear, Kathy,” Q declares. “Why do you think I’ve let your pesky little descendant keep hanging around? He’s going to create a diversion.” He smirks at Braxton. “Start crawling, Captain. You need to draw those two away from Kathy here while she completes her mission.”  
  
“Which is?”  
  
“You’re going to pop that pip into Chuckles’ bed.”  
  
“I’m _what?_ ”  
  
Q ignores me, clicks his fingers, and Braxton’s arms and legs begin lurching forward of their own accord. “Bye-bye,” Q calls after him. “Don’t worry, I won’t let them find you.”  
  
“The signal is moving,” Seven announces from outside the Jeffries tube. “We should continue tracking it.”  
  
“I will return to the bridge and initiate internal scans,” I hear Tuvok reply as they move away.  
  
“Ready, Kathy?” Q asks, but before I can reply, he snaps his fingers and I find myself standing in my first officer’s bedroom with a pip in my hand.  
  
I sit down hard on the bed.

 

* * *

  
  
The door to Chakotay’s quarters slides open.  
  
_Crap!_ I look around wildly for a place to hide. _No time_. Tossing the pip onto his pillow, I dive under the bed.  
  
I hear him moving around his living area, the soft chime of console keys, the whir of the replicator. Oh, that’s right – I remember taking my replicator apart earlier that day and not having time to put it back together. He’s preparing our dinner. The outer door slides open and I breathe a sigh of relief and start to slide out from under the bed.  
  
Then the doors close and his soft footfalls come closer. Oh God, he’s coming into the bedroom. I freeze in place.  
  
Chakotay opens a drawer and I hear the chink of a bottle; he must’ve gone to the cargo bay earlier to get the Antarian cider. His footsteps move away, then pause.  
  
Crap. He’s coming closer. I can see his boots as he stops by the bed. He leans over the pillow. He’s picking up the pip…  
  
“Huh,” I hear him mutter. He opens another drawer and I hear the soft chirp of a tricorder.  
  
Then Chakotay starts to laugh.  
  
“Kathryn Janeway,” he says aloud, “you never cease to surprise me.”  
  
For a moment I think I’ve been discovered, but then he puts down the tricorder and tucks the bottle under his arm, humming to himself as he collects the dishes from the replicator and exits his quarters.  
  
Cautiously I squirm out from under the bed and scramble to my feet.  
  
Q is sitting on Chakotay’s bed looking extremely pleased with himself.  
  
“So,” he says. “Want to see what happens next?”

 

* * *

  
  
We’re sitting in the armchairs in my living area watching Chakotay and my one-year-younger self sprawled on the couch, sipping Antarian cider and flirting. Yes, flirting. There’s no other word for it.  
  
“Are you sure they can’t see us?” I mutter to Q.  
  
“Shh,” he says, annoyed. “We’re just getting to the good part.”  
  
Chakotay is smirking, and the other me is blushing and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I had to tell her there are some barriers we never cross,” he’s saying. “But apparently that was a lie.” He holds up my rank pip. “Or it’s going to be.”  
  
The other me takes a fourth pip from her collar and drops it into Chakotay’s empty glass.  
  
“Wait a minute,” I object, “where did that come from?”  
  
“Details,” Q dismisses. “Look, look!”  
  
Chakotay is putting the pip back on Captain Janeway’s collar. He’s leaning in close. So close I can see the other me shiver and close her eyes.  
  
“What were we saying about there being a part of your life you know nothing about?” she whispers.  
  
He turns his head slightly. “That it sounds like the future.”  
  
She twists to meet him. “Interesting,” she breathes. I can hear the catch in her voice, and he’s not smiling anymore. As we watch, she leans into him and he dips his head to hers.  
  
The moment their lips touch, I’m enveloped in white light.

 

* * *

  
  
I materialise, gasping and shaking, behind my desk at Starfleet Command, wearing my grey-shouldered uniform and – I reach up to check – a vice-admiral’s rank bars.  
  
I’m alone, and it’s dark outside my window. Glancing at the console on my desk, I realise the time reads 1900 hours and the date is May 20, 2378.  
  
I’m exactly where and when I left.  
  
I get unsteadily to my feet. “Q! Where are you?”  
  
There’s no reply.  
  
“Well, what was the point of all this, then?” I shout into the empty room. “Why make me go through all that if nothing has changed?”  
  
Silence.  
  
I sink back into my chair, blinking back despondent tears. Damn Q. What kind of mean-spirited gift was that, anyway?  
  
There’s a knock at my office door, and a head pops around it. Dark hair, tattoo and a pair of dimples.  
  
“I thought I’d find you here.”  
  
My jaw drops. Q may be mischievous, but I’ve never known him to be cruel before. Not like this.  
  
It takes a moment or two to find my voice. “Why are you doing this?”  
  
Q/Chakotay’s smile drops and he comes closer. “Kathryn? Are you all right?”  
  
“Oh, like you care!” I’m on my feet again, striding out from behind my desk, toe to toe with him. “Next time you come bearing gifts, you can just damn well keep them. I mean it!”  
  
Q/Chakotay stares at me. “What’s wrong, Kathryn? You’re starting to scare me.” His eyes widen. “Is something wrong with the baby?”  
  
_Baby?_  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
“That’s it,” he mutters. “I’m taking you to the Doctor.”  
  
I plant my hands on my hips. “You’re not taking me anywhere. I’m done dancing to your tune. Just get out and leave me alone. Preferably for the rest of my life.”  
  
“Kathryn,” he says in that soft voice that sounds so exactly like Chakotay’s.  
  
Wait a minute.  
  
_Kathryn?_  
  
“You’re not Q,” I realise slowly.  
  
“Q?” Chakotay glances around the room fearfully. “Why would you think I – No, of course I’m not Q!”  
  
Swallowing hard, still not quite believing it, I raise my chin. “Prove it.”  
  
He stares at me for a moment longer. Then his eyes glint with determination and he steps forward, takes me into his arms, and kisses me.  
  
With tenderness, passion, and oh, _so_ much skill.  
  
And as I melt into his kiss, it all comes rushing in – or rushing back. The night of the burnt-out deflector dish. My search for my missing pip and its discovery in the most unexpected of places. Our kiss and the hours that followed, spent in his arms. The decision never to spend another night apart from that moment on. The return to Earth, our promotions, the house we bought together. The discovery, just this morning, that we’re going to have a baby.  
  
The best gift I could ever have received.  
  
I kiss him back until I can barely breathe or hold myself upright, and as we break apart I tighten my arms around him and send Q a silent message of thanks.  
  
“Better now?” Chakotay smiles against my hair.  
  
“Infinitely.”  
  
He holds me tighter. “Happy birthday, Kathryn.”  
  
“Chakotay?” I murmur into his neck.  
  
“Yes, Kathryn?”  
  
“What do you say we skip dinner?”  
  
He pulls back to grin at me. “Aren’t you hungry?”  
  
I give him a look from under my lashes. “Oh, I’m hungry.”  
  
“Noted,” he almost purrs. He steps back and holds out his arm. I take it, pressing myself close against his side.  
  
“By the way,” I add as we head for the door, “I’ve been thinking about what we should call the baby. What do you think of Pip?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it - my version of how Janeway's pip got into Chakotay's bed. (And probably the closest thing to a babyfic I will ever write.)
> 
> For another interpretation, check out carlynroth's [A Woman in Want of a Pip](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/PrixinPromptComp2017/works/10554638).


End file.
